


ROAD RAGE

by mcbeefy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu suffers, Bad Driving, Humor, M/M, Mentioned Miya Osamu, POV Miya Atsumu, Rated T for swearing, Road Rage, bad driver Omi agenda, bc atsumu dunks on osamu even in his thoughts, sakuatsu are both Clowns, sakusa says the fuck word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcbeefy/pseuds/mcbeefy
Summary: For a man who preaches at any given opportunity about the importance of good self-care practices, Sakusa certainly displays an astounding lack of self-preservation when behind the wheel.Sakusa Kiyoomi has a driver’s license. Sakusa Kiyoomi cannot drive.The two are not mutually exclusive.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 52
Kudos: 379





	ROAD RAGE

**Author's Note:**

> sakuatsu nation i present to you whatever the hell this is

Miya Osamu is about to become an only child. 

That is the only thought running through Miya Atsumu’s mind as he fights for his life trapped within the confines of Sakusa’s black Lexus. He is, without a doubt, about to perish within this unyielding metal box alongside the man of his dreams. Except said man is anything but dreamy at this present moment.

“For fuck’s sake!” Sakusa roars, swerving his car across two entire lanes of traffic to shoot the finger at the unfortunate driver of a car with provisional license plates. Atsumu thinks he sees the poor boy burst into tears. 

“Damn learner drivers and their shitty driving,” Sakusa sneers. 

Unbidden, the image of a pot and a kettle comes to Atsumu’s mind, a mental imagery which he immediately quashes. He would rather not have his last thought on earth to be of kitchenware. 

_”Omi-Omi’ll be the death of me!”_ He had mused dreamily to his twin just the day prior, peering at a picture he’d taken of a sleeping Sakusa during a break at practice ( _”it’s not a creepshot, fuck you Osamu!”_ ). Really, Atsumu hadn’t expected to become a fucking prophet overnight. 

Up ahead, a driver attempts to merge into their lane.

“Like hell you will,” Sakusa mumbles angrily under his breath, the only warning Atsumu gets before he's slamming on the accelerator.

Aran once said that the quietest people are the scariest when angered, and now, sitting shotgun beside Sakusa who looks more than fit to star in an anti road rage campaign, with one hand gripping the handle above the car window and the other his racing chest, Atsumu thinks he understands completely what Aran had meant. Although he had been referring to Kita-san at the time, Atsumu thinks Aran's adage applies equally well to Sakusa. Alarmingly well - Atsumu can hardly reconcile the monster beside him right now with the same man who approaches everything in life with absolute caution and quiet meticulousness.

Outside the window, the world flies by in a blur of coloured blobs. They’re way above the speed limit now. Belatedly Atsumu wonders how often Sakusa gets ticketed for speeding, because he seems way too comfortable right now with the startling velocity at which they’re travelling. 

And then Atsumu sees his salvation. Ahead, a stoplight awaits, a red beacon of hope heralding the end to this madness. Atsumu has never been happier to see a red light in all twenty-six years of his life. 

That is, until Sakusa accelerates right past said stoplight.

For a man who preaches at any given opportunity about the importance of good self-care practices, Sakusa certainly displays an astounding lack of self-preservation when behind the wheel. As much as Sakusa exhorts the wonders of good hand-washing techniques to ward off disease and sickness, Atsumu now firmly believes Sakusa to be approximately fifty times more likely to die of traffic-related reasons than the influenza. 

They’re at another stoplight, Sakusa mercifully stopping the car this time. But Atsumu is accorded little relief by this, not when Sakusa is revving the engine and getting ready to commit yet another traffic violation. He’s convinced that the driver to their right is challenging him to a race. 

“Bastard, I’d like to see you try,” Sakusa drawls, glaring at the other driver. “You can’t even look me in the eye.”

Atsumu feels like pointing out that the other driver, a dowdy-looking salaryman in his forties, is unlikely to be challenging them to _a fucking street race_ , and that he’s probably averting his gaze right now because of the terrifying glint in Sakusa’s eyes.

But then the lights change and Sakusa floors it. They’re off like a bullet. Atsumu’s words die on his tongue as he holds onto the seatbelt for dear life. 

Really, who would have thought Sakusa Kiyoomi to be such a speed demon? Atsumu feels like he's discovered a side of Sakusa he'd never known before. Actually, that's not exactly true. Sure, he'd never been subjected to Sakusa's driving before today, but he’d been forewarned. When Sakusa first joined the Jackals, Komori had phoned Atsumu using Suna’s phone, requested to be put on loudspeaker, and in no uncertain terms, cautioned the entire MSBY team against ever accepting rides from Sakusa.

( _“Listen, whatever you do, just do not get into his car.”_ )

Not that Atsumu had ever had to worry about this before. Sakusa had always refused anyway, citing Atsumu's germ-riddled presence to be blasphemous to the sanitation conditions of his private space. And so Atsumu, having never experienced Sakusa’s driving firsthand, dismissed Komori’s warnings as nothing short of familial heckling. He figured it was a cousin thing - he wasn’t as close to his cousins, but he had Osamu, whom he spent a great deal of high school spreading baseless rumours about, just because he could.

( _“Hey Gin, didja know? Samu’s got a tapeworm.”_ )

Hell, he still does it to date. 

( _“Don’t you know? The owner of Onigiri Miya is bald. Why do you think he never takes his hat off?”_ )

And so Atsumu foolishly wrote off Komori’s warnings. Now, riding shotgun in this death machine, Atsumu realizes the errors of his ways. He should never have doubted Komori’s words. He had been offered life-saving advice, and what did he do? Laugh in the face of death. It hits Atsumu now, that all of the previous times Omi had rebuffed him were the universe's way of prolonging his existence.

“Oh fuck,” Sakusa mumbles from beside him. 

He’s missed a turning. 

He shifts gears. 

And begins _reversing into oncoming traffic._

A cacophony of blaring horns resounds from behind them.

Atsumu closes his eyes. His breathing comes out ragged, heart palpitating wildly. He's a professional athlete in his prime. An Olympian. He follows a strict training regimen and a nutritionist-prescribed diet. And Sakusa is single-handedly going to undo all of this effort put into maintaining his cardiovascular health. Slowly, Atsumu lowers his head and folds himself in half, putting his head between his knees and focusing on breathing exercises. No, he would not wish this ordeal upon anyone else, not even Osamu, bastard twin that he is. Indeed, this experience is altogether unfit for any human to bear. 

Atsumu has been uncharacteristically silent, too preoccupied despairing over the threat of imminent doom to engage in his usual incessant chatter; not a day goes by where Sakusa doesn’t chew him out for talking his ear off. And Sakusa must notice his odd behaviour, because he glances worriedly at him. 

"...Miya? Are you okay? You're being awfully quiet," Sakusa says carefully. "Are you still sulking?” 

Atsumu doesn’t reply. He’s focusing on not throwing up all over the dashboard. 

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Sakusa is apologizing to him. Sakusa. He must be beyond alarmed by Atsumu's odd behaviour right now for him to be saying sorry. Atsumu would be touched by the genuine concern in his voice, if only his consciousness hadn't already fled this plane of existence. 

  
  
  
  
  


( _“Miya, come on. We’re going to be late,” Sakusa growls for the fifth time that hour, irritation evident in the tightness of his jaw._

_He’s standing in the corridor beyond the open doorway of Atsumu’s room at the MSBY Black Jackals dorms, black leather oxford tapping an agitated rhythm out against the concrete flooring. Inside, Atsumu stands at the foot of his bed, sifting furiously through the upended contents of his closet on the bed. His hair is rumpled, shirt unbuttoned, suit blazer hanging off of the doorknob, and he’s wearing only one sock._

_“Omi - just - just gimme a minute, I can’t find my tie.”_

_From the doorway, Sakusa lets out an exasperated exhale. He’d knocked on Atsumu’s door an hour ago, taken a single glance at the jungle of clothing items littering the floor, and refused to step foot into the mess._

_“It’s literally right there.”_

_“No, not that one. I mean the charcoal one,” Atsumu replies distractedly, rifling through his drawers now._

_“Why can’t you just wear that one and be done with it?”_

_“Seriously? That one’s green, Omi. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing a burgundy suit. You want me to turn up looking like one of Santa’s elves wandered out of the fucking North Pole?”_

_“Oh for crying out loud - this isn’t Tokyo Fashion Week, Atsumu. Bokuto and Akaashi are having a fucking volleyball-themed wedding. Everyone will be so distracted by the sheer horribleness of it all that no one’s gonna care if your tie clashes with your suit.”_

_“Well, I care. So either help me look for the damn tie or we’re not leaving.”_

_“We don’t have time for this,” Sakusa growls. “I’ve already had to cancel three Uber bookings in a row. Three. My rating’s gone to shit.”_

_“Then just stop booking them! I’m not leaving until we find the fucking tie.”_

_“This is what I absolutely hate about you. You just have to make everything about you,” Sakusa sneers. “Guess what? You’re not as important as you seem to think you are, Miya.”_

_“Fine! I’ll fucking find it myself!” Atsumu hurls a balled up shirt at Sakusa and slams the door in his face._ )

  
  
  
  
  


In the end, they don’t find the tie, and they don’t get an Uber. After struggling to find an Uber match for twenty minutes, Sakusa declared that they couldn't waste anymore time waiting around, and that he’d drive instead. Under normal circumstances his suggestion to play designated driver would have been met with objections by Atsumu (he’s been coached by Komori), but he had been pissed at Sakusa, so he gave him the cold shoulder. Unfortunately, Sakusa interpreted his silence as affirmative.

Which is how Atsumu finds himself in his Christmas elf-adjacent get-up, hurtling forwards at alarming speeds towards his inevitable end. 

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” Sakusa continues. “It’s just, you know how much I hate being late.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I was being a dick anyway,” Atsumu mutters.

To be honest, Atsumu had pretty much already forgotten about the fight. Based on the present state of affairs, it seems their argument had been needless anyway. Because they’re about to make it to the wedding _with time to spare_ , all thanks to Sakusa driving like a madman. And Atsumu wishes he could say that Sakusa’s frightful driving right now is an attempt to circumvent their presumed tardiness, but he would be lying if he said that. Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is a menace on the road at all times, punctuality notwithstanding. Really, it’s a miracle he hasn’t been arrested yet. Or killed anyone. Atsumu hopes he won’t be the first. 

He watches in paralyzed terror as Sakusa makes yet another illegal turning, coming dangerously close to another car and just narrowly avoiding a horrific collision. The other driver blares their horn. 

"Oh shut up, it's not like I crashed into you. Overdramatic bastard," Sakusa scoffs. 

He sounds the horn back at the other driver in retaliation. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Atsumu mutters. 

“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” Sakusa says. This is unsurprising, considering he’s been holding down the car horn like his life depends on it. 

“I said,” Atsumu raises his voice irately. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa has released the horn by this point, but clearly he hasn’t heard him, because he turns fully to face Atsumu and frowns lightly. “You have to speak up. I can’t hear you.”

As if granting Sakusa’s request, Atsumu promptly screams. 

“Eyes on the road!”

Atsumu buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe what a terrible driver you are, oh my god. This is so awful.”

“You’re overreacting, Miya.” 

“Shut up! You’re gonna get us both killed!” Atsumu has veered fully into hysteria now. 

Sakusa pays no mind to his distress, and this is how they make it to the wedding venue in half the time they should have taken were Sakusa a more law-abiding driver.

  
  
  
  
  


Atsumu clambers out of the car on unsteady legs, meeting the eyes of the sour-faced valet whom Sakusa had refused to allow to park his car. As Sakusa sweeps past him and into the hotel, Atsumu surreptitiously slips the guy some cash. 

“Slash the tires. Drive another car into it, I don’t care. Just fucking total it. Please.”

The back of Atsumu’s mind wonders how this must look, a national athlete dressed like a Christmas elf-reject and handing over a wad of cash to a stranger for him to commit a felony in his stead. He hopes he won’t get an angry call from his PR manager later. 

But Atsumu isn’t too concerned with that right now. His only present thought is that Sakusa Kiyoomi must be stopped from terrorizing the streets of Japan any further.

  
  
  


  
  


“What are they doing?” Osamu asks through a mouthful of grilled cod. It’s his second helping so far.

Suna looks up from his phone. Two tables away, Atsumu and Komori are hugging each other and sobbing loudly, both very clearly drunk.

“You were right,” Atsumu wails, loud enough to be heard by everyone in a twenty-feet radius. “It’s horrible. So horrible.”

“I know, I know.” Komori slurs back, patting Atsumu’s back. Except he uses the hand holding his wine glass, so now there’s a splotch of red wine blossoming on Atsumu’s suit jacket. It kind of blends in with the colour though, so there’s that. 

“Oh, that.” Suna turns back to his phone. “Atsumu said he was gonna look for his ‘fellow victim to bond over shared trauma’, whatever that means.”

“Oh.”

“Want the rest of my entrée?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry atsumu lol
> 
> im [@baldmiya](https://twitter.com/baldmiya) on twitter!


End file.
